


Creative Block

by ChemicallyImbalancedRomantic



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Platonic Relationships, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:33:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29236869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChemicallyImbalancedRomantic/pseuds/ChemicallyImbalancedRomantic
Summary: When Thomas's latest video receives bad feedback, Roman is crushed. He is even more upset when he can't come up with any new ideas. When he finds himself trapped in a literal creative block, he has to rely on his friends to help him through the struggle, and learns some important lessons on the way.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Creative Block

**Author's Note:**

> yay first fic on AO3 woooo!  
> A few TWs:  
> Mild blood/injuries/body horror  
> Insecurity  
> Panic attack (skip paragraph starting with "But Roman heard the soft click of the door..." until the paragraph starting with "'Much' Roman breathed...")  
> can be taken as romantic prinxiety or platonic; you choose!

Roman had been in a rut. The last video Thomas produced, which utilized many of Roman’s best ideas, received terrible feedback. Roman couldn’t understand why, but people just… didn’t like it. And that crushed him.

He did his best not to let it show. The others knew that the video wasn’t received well, and they knew that it hurt Roman to see his ideas badmouthed. They knew how it hurt him. He never wanted them to find out, but after the incident a few months back that left them all scarred (in more ways than one), they knew everything.

Since then, they would scrutinize any bruises and cuts on the prince’s skin with worry-lined eyes. Patton was terrible at hiding his concern; he handed Roman Band-Aids and ice packs and hugged him more than usual. Logan and Virgil tried to stop him to save Roman’s pride, but once Patton’s fatherly instincts kicked in, he couldn’t be stopped. It was suffocating to Roman, who just wanted to be left alone.

Which is why, whenever Roman was particularly upset, he locked himself in his room, away from everyone else. He would tend to his wounds by himself and took it easy as people’s comments nicked and scraped him. No matter how bad his wounds got, he didn’t let anyone help him. He would wait until he recovered enough before he left his room, which was never for more than a few days, as not to worry the others. Even then, he was glad that his costume was long-sleeved.

This particular incident had been pretty bad for the prince. Roman had been sure that this video was going to be great! He double-checked the facts with Logan, and stayed up late perfecting it. Even Virgil said it was a work of art! But alas, his efforts were all in vain.

He lay face-first on his bed, his shoulder aching as a new bruise bloomed there. It had been only a day since the video had been posted, so his wounds were pretty fresh. He didn’t blame people for not liking it; in hindsight, he realized it wasn’t that funny, or inventive, or… creative. But still, it was his job to bear the negativity.

Roman turned over and looked at his ceiling. A handful of origami dragons he constructed years back hung from fishing wire taped to the roof. He reached up, held one delicately between his fingers, and with a great fury, tore it from the roof and crumpled it in a ball. It gave him no joy, but he felt antsy. He had to do _some_ thing. _Any_ thing.

Staring at the paper dragons, Roman had an epiphany. He sat up fast, ignoring his headache. He realized he had to make things right. He would fix everything by making a new, incredible, never-seen-before video, one that would knock the socks off of everyone and earn him praise. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so bad.

Why hadn’t he thought of this before?! Roman leapt to his desk, spread out his markers and notebooks, picked his favorite glittery red gel pen, positioned it on his notebook…

And slammed his head against the desk. There was nothing in his mind. Nothing. No matter how hard he tried, or what he thought of, or who he imagined, no new ideas came up. He paced, he sang, he read, he did everything he could to jog his ideas to no avail. Any idea he thought of was immediately shot down by the constant aches and stings; reminders of what people thought of his work.

Roman turned his back to his bedroom door and slid down to the ground, his head in his hands. He looked up and glanced at the mirror across the room from him. Even he had to admit he looked bad. A nasty cut had formed on his forehead, and his collarbone was splotchy and black and blue. He knew they would fade in time, but for now, the pain was real.

Roman closed his eyes, exhaustion hitting him like a ton of bricks. He closed his eyes right there on the floor, hoping that if he had any dreams, he could write them down and turn them into something creative.

But for the one time in his life when he desperately craved sleep, no dreams came to him.

Soon, Roman woke up. He kept his eyes closed because everything hurt; his head, his arms, his chest. At this point, he was used to it, but being used to it didn’t stop the pain. Roman wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep. It didn’t feel like very long, but Roman knew he would never go back to sleep in this state. He needed to get to his bed, and hopefully he’d get some better rest.

He yawned and started to stretch when his arms hit a solid surface. Odd. He rolled to the side, but got nowhere, because his body met another solid surface.

Panic increasing, Roman’s eyes snapped open, and he felt around with his hands. He could only reach a few inches all around until he hit solid surface after solid surface, and there was nothing but darkness around him, encasing him, enveloping him.

“Not again,” he sighed. He was trapped in a creative block.

Patton was getting worried. He knew Roman needed time to himself when he was hurting, but it had been a while since the prince had been around the others. For two nights, Patton had found the food he left outside Roman’s door untouched the following mornings. He tapped his fingers on his glass of chocolate milk, a look of concern growing on his face.

Logan, observant as ever, noticed Patton’s pensiveness. He put down his magazine and crossed his arms.

“You are worried about Roman.” It wasn’t a question.

Patton sighed. “Of course I’m worried. He hasn’t been cooped up for this long since…” he trailed off. Both sides remembered that horrible day when they found Roman passed out on the floor of his room, drenched in his own blood.

Virgil rolled off of the couch and joined the others at the table. “Listen, worrying is my job. Let me worry for you.”

“I know kiddo I just… Roman is very stubborn. And last time, that got him really hurt. I just want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Logan and Virgil glanced at each other. The former cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “Very well. If you find it necessary to check on him, then by all means. Just leave him be if he asks you to.”

Patton shot out of his seat and ran up the stairs.

“And holler if something goes wrong.” Virgil called after him. He sighed and looked at Logan.

“He’ll be fine,” Logan said.

“... I didn’t ask.”

“I know.” Logan looked back at his magazine.

The soft thuds on the door seemed too loud to Patton. He didn’t want to knock too loud in case Roman was asleep, but he also wanted to hear that he was okay.

“Hey kiddo… doin’ okay?” Patton pressed the side of his face flush to the door. He heard a muffled reply that he couldn’t understand. That was fine; Patton’s shoulders relaxed just hearing that the creative side was awake.

“Okay kiddo just… call out if you need me.” Patton started to leave when he heard another muffled reply.

Patton dashed back to the door, heart racing. “Roman? Didja need anything?” The muffled response came again, sounding a little different this time. “Okay buddy, I’m coming in.” Patton pushed the door open and--

It didn’t open. Patton pushed and pushed, horrible visions of Roman’s lifeless body blocking the door from opening racing though his mind. “Logan! Virgil!” He called through grunts as he kept pushing the door.

The sound of frantic footsteps raced up the stairs. Virgil and Logan skidded to a top next to Patton. Virgil’s eyeshadow grew darker by the second, and Logan’s eyes were wide with fear.

“What is it? What the hell happened?”

“Is he okay?”

“What are you doing?”

“It’s…. blocked,” Patton gasped. He had worked up a sweat. His back was now against the door, and he was pressing with his knees. “Help me -- agh -- open it!”

The three sides got to work shoving and pushing on the door. Vigil made a noise of triumph as the door opened a crack. He wedged his foot through the crack and, with a final slow push, the door opened.

The three rushed into the room and looked around. Roman was nowhere to be seen.

“Roman?” Virgil called.

“I was trying to tell you I’m fine,” a muffled voice called. The three whipped around. There, behind the door, was a large, opaque cube. It was about half their height and made of something not even Logan could identify. He walked up to it and knocked on the top.

“Roman, are you… are you in this cube?” Logan asked incredulously.

A sigh emerged from the cube. “Yes, I’m in here.”

The others stood there, mouths ajar. “It’s okay. You can laugh.” He sounded so dejected, so quiet, that the others started to miss his near-shouting, excitable voice.

“Roman, how… how the hell did you get in there?” Virgil sat next to the box and placed a hand on its side as though he were trying to comfort Roman.

“Well, real-world things affect us physically, right? Patton’s skin cracks when Thomas experiences heartbreak, Virgil has his anxiety episodes when Thomas does, and Logan acts like a robot when he’s under stimulated. Lucky me, I experience two things. One you… you know about. This I’ve kept from you. But I’m fine, I swear.”

Virgil ignored his obvious lie and persisted. “Okay, but what is it?”

“Yes, Roman, please explain.”

“It’s… ugh.” they heard a thump from the inside, like Roman was adjusting himself. “God this is embarrassing. It's a creative block. I can’t come up with any ideas, so I get put in this block as, like, punishment or something. Add this with the other thing and well… it’s basically like a prison.”

“And how long have you known about this?” Logan asked. He examined the box meticulously, searching for any way to free his friend. He tried to lift it, but it was as though it were bolted to the ground.

“Uh… I’m actually not sure. Maybe a few years? This is only the third time it’s happened, so-”

“Wait, this has happened before?” Patton put a hand to his mouth. “How did we not know?”

Roman gave a dry laugh. “Because I never told you, of course.”

“Roman,” Patton sighed.

“I’m sorry,” was all Roman could reply.

“Roman, no, it’s okay,” Patton wished he could hug the prince tight. “We just want to help!”

“Thanks for the sentiment, but there’s really nothing you can do. The block is impen-”

“I have an idea!” Logan exclaimed, startling the others. “I’ll be right back.” He sunk out.

“Logan, please!” Roman’s voice was panicked. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not going to wor-”

“He’s already gone, kiddo. I don’t know what he’s going to do, but--” Patton was cut off by the block lifting off of the ground slightly and slamming back on the floor, accompanied by a yelp from Roman. It happened again, and as it was rearing to happen a third time, Virgil held his hands on top of the box, trying to steady it.

“What’s happening?!” Virgil asked frantically. He couldn’t contain the box, and he jumped back as the it slammed down right where his foot was a moment ago.

“I-- I don’t know!” Patton trembled. Suddenly, the block stopped. They could hear Roman panting heavily and gasping through his breaths as though each inhale hurt him.

Logan reappeared inside Roman’s room, a frown on his face. “I asked Thomas to summon Roman a few times, but he wouldn’t appear.”

“Logan, that hurt him!” Virgil hissed. “The box was moving all crazy and we couldn’t stop it and Roman was getting knocked around! He’s already hurt from taking all of the damage to Thomas’s ego, and you probably made that worse!”

“Yeah.” Roman said through gasps, his voice still muffled by the block. “As I was _saying_ , it’s impenetrable, so don’t try anything.”

The color drained from Logan’s face as the others glared at him. “I-- I am so sorry. I just… I thought…” for once, he didn’t know what to say. He pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned against the wall.

“I know, Specs, you were just trying to help. But there’s literally nothing you can do. I just have to… wait until some inspiration comes to me. It’s a waiting game at this point.”

“How long have you been waiting already?” Virgil asked as he bit his nails.

“Um, hello? Pitch-black, impenetrable box? I have no sense of time in here.”

“Gah, sorry, sorry. Well, it’s like… 11 AM on the fifteenth now. Do you know when you got trapped?”

“Early on the thirteenth, I think.”

“You’ve been in here for over two days?!” Patton gasped.

“Last time I was in here for like five days, so…”

“Five-- five days?!” Patton clutched his heart and backed onto Roman’s bed.

“How did you even survive?”

“Sheer stubbornness and a lot of Advil.”

There was silence for a minute. Virgil sat next to the box, looking at it with an unreadable expression. Logan stood over it, his arms crossed, and Patton stared at it from the bed, his heart hurting for Princey.

“Are you still here?” There was panic in Roman’s voice, a panic none of them had ever heard before. They clamored to assure him of their presence.

“Yes, we’re here.”

“Of course, kiddo.”

“Right here, Princey. Here, put your hand on mine.” Virgil tapped the side of the block with his palm. He heard a soft tap as Roman placed his hand on the other side. “We won’t leave until we get you out.”

“There’s no ‘getting me out.’ I told you, we just have to wait.”

“But what if we don’t?”

Patton and Virgil stared at Logan. “Roman, you said you need something to inspire you to get out, right?”

“... right…”

“So what if we found something to inspire your creativity? We could read books to you--”

“Put on movies!” Patton added.

“Play music.” Virgil kept his hand on the side of the box and tapped again. “What do you think, Princey?”

“It won’t work.”

“Well, have you tried?”

Roman was silent at Logan’s question. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try…”

“That’s the spirit!” Patton cheered.

“But I really don’t think it will work!”

Patton didn’t hear him. “I’ll go grab some movies.”

“And I’ll get some books.”

“And I--” Virgil started, but was interrupted by Roman’s sharp inhale. “I’ll stay right here.” he tapped his hand against the box twice. Two small taps answered him. He smiled.

Roman adjusted himself inside the box with great difficulty. It was very cramped inside, and his body ached from the uncomfortable position he was in. His feet touched the vertical side in front of his face, and his knees were bent to be parallel to the top. His back ached so much from curving awkwardly along the corner, the weight of his head pretty much unsupported. His hands were normally folded in his lap, but now he was using them to try and get more comfortable. The prince pressed his hands in the small spaces around his torso, found the bottom face, and pushed up, trying to get his back level with the vertical side behind his head. He pushed up too hard and let out a small grunt of pain as his head hit the top of the box.

“You okay, kiddo?” he heard Patton’s muffled question from near his head. Roman rubbed said head with his hand and made a small noise of affirmation.

“I’m okay, Pat. Thanks.” His voice echoed eerily in the small box. He dropped his hands back into his lap and could feel hot blood that he wiped from his temple drying quickly on his palms. Even inside this otherwise impenetrable box, Roman still bore any negativity Thomas received. He felt new bruises appear and new cuts arise. They were small, but injuries such as his were powerful in numbers. The worst was the gash on Roman’s forehead that he noticed before he got stuck. It continued to bleed freely, starting and stopping as it pleased and trickling into Roman’s eyes. The smell inside the box was insufferable. It smelled of iron and sweat, and Roman couldn’t escape.

Logan seemed to understand that the prince’s struggle was due to the box’s confines. “That can’t be very comfortable. You’d have to fold yourself in half to-”

In his mind’s eye, Roman could see Virgil glare at Logan to shut him up. He laughed ruefully. “Bingo, Specs. All the creativity in the mind; itty-bitty living space.”

“Nice one,” Virgil said from his right. Roman heard him tap the box again, and Roman answered with two taps of his own.

“Okay, kiddo, which movie next?”

“You choose.” Roman said. Virgil had plugged his computer into Roman’s speaker to watch movies. The sound came through fine, and he tried to pay attention, but his mind kept running blank. He would tune in and out and had to ask the others to repeat themselves when he wasn’t paying attention, which he blamed on the box muffling their voices. He didn’t even have the energy to go through his mental catalog of movies, which was really saying something.

“Let’s see… we have already done The Little Mermaid, the confusing one with the anthropomorphic bees, and Beauty and the Beast. Has… has any of this helped?” The poorly masked concern in Logan’s question sent a tremor of guilt through Roman.

“Yes, actually, I… I think it has," he lied.

“Very good!’ He sounded so pleased. “Any other media you wish to consume?”

Roman tried to think --he really did-- but he came up with nothing. He yawned loudly and shrugged, then remembered the others couldn’t see.

“Are you tired kiddo? It’s getting late.” “Yeah, actually, I am.” That wasn’t a lie; he was exhausted. But he had gotten no sleep last night due to his unfortunate state, and was sure he would get none tonight.

“All right, Roman. You get some sleep, okay? We’ll check on you in the morning.”

“‘Kay,” Roman mumbled, not really paying attention. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the box, and he winced as he felt another scrape appear on his calf.

He was silent for a while, his mind utterly empty. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. Please, he thought. I just want to sleep. He knew that if he had dreams, it would mean his creativity was working again, and he would wake up and be free.

But as Roman heard the soft click of the door closing, he came to the realization that the silence was suffocating. His eyes snapped open. Did everyone leave? Was he all alone? Was he going to survive this time? What if he never got free?

His breathing hitched and he gasped for air; was there enough in this block? If he was dying in here, would the others be able to save him? He started to panic more than he ever had in his life. He was going to die here. He was going to die and the others wouldn’t be able to save him and--

“Hey, hey, Princey. Shh, you’re okay. Hey, listen, match my breathing, okay? Come on, you can do it.”

Roman let out a small sob of relief; he wasn’t alone. “Virg, you came back?” Roman asked as he tried to steady his breathing.

“I never left. Come on Princey, breathe. You’re safe, you’re okay.”

Roman could do nothing else but listen to Virgil. He breathed in and out rhythmically like Virgil, and as he did, his heartbeat lowered and his breathing became steadier. This lasted for a few minutes, until Virgil asked “Better?”

“Much.” Roman breathed out of his mouth heavily. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Don’t mention it.” “You should go to bed,” Roman said. “Don’t stay up because of me.”

“You’re so full of yourself. I’m up because of me. Not everything is about you, you know.” Roman could hear a smile on the other side’s lips.

“Says you,” he mumbled, but he laughed. “What time is it?”

Roman heard Virgil walk toward the clock in his bedroom. “Eleven fifteen.”

“PM?”

“Yeah. The others are asleep.”

“Good.”

Roman sighed and tried to adjust himself again. His muscles were starting to lock in their uncomfortable positions. He managed to scoot himself up so his back was in a slightly more vertical position. It was better than before, but still very cramped.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just trying to get comfortable. It’s harder than it seems like it should be.”

“I bet.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Normally, such silence would make Roman very uncomfortable. Now that he knew it wasn’t a suffocating silence, and that he wasn’t totally alone, he was grateful for it. He didn’t have the energy to fill the silence with songs or conversation. So he didn’t.

He tried to close his eyes and get some rest, but it was impossible. The combination of the cramped space and Roman’s injuries plagued him and kept him from sleeping. But it wasn’t only that. He was acutely aware of Virgil's presence. It wasn't bad, but it struck him as... odd.

“Still awake?” he heard Virgil ask.

“Yeah,” Roman replied. “Just uncomfortable.”

“Need anything?”

Roman shook his head. “No, no. It’s just… why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” The anxious side sounded genuinely confused.

“You know. Staying here with me. Helping me.”

“Because… because I’m worried about you. You’re stuck in this ‘creative block,’ so to speak, and your ego is probably all bruised up too, and I can’t just stand by and let you suffer. I may be emo, but I'm not evil."

“But I’ve been horrible to you. I tease you, I call you names, we fight constantly. I just… I guess I feel like I don’t deserve it… or something.”

There was silence on the other end. Roman mentally kicked himself; he probably overstepped his boundaries. “Look, just forge-”

“You’re not wrong. You do tease me. You’re not the nicest. You’re no Patton.” Roman felt shame flood through him at Virgil’s words. “But I’m not blameless, either. I do the same. And when it goes too far, neither of us voice our hurt. We just keep firing back until someone stops us. We’re both way too proud to let each other see us sweat.”

“I think pride is more my fault than yours.”

“Hah. Look at you, being self aware. Sure, but my point is, underneath the thorns and clapbacks and shit… I think we do care about each other. Right?”

“I… I mean… I guess so.” Roman fiddled with his hands and furrowed his brows. “I just never really thought you liked me much.”

“We’re family, idiot. Of course I like you. Just like Patton and Logan like us. You… you like me too, right?”

Roman’s heart broke a little bit at the question. Had he really been that bad to make Virgil think he hated him? “Uh, duh. I guess I haven’t shown it well enough.”

“Me neither, Princey. And I’m sorry for that. I need to be better.”

“I’m sorry, too. We both need to do better. And I do care about you.”

“Right. And when people care about each other, I guess… they don’t want anything… bad to happen to them?” Virgil scoffed. “That was -- yikes.”

“Yeah, I think words are more my thing.” The two laughed. “But I got your point.”

“I just want to protect you, Roman. That’s my job. To identify problems and protect Thomas from them. And that kind of trickles down to the rest of you...?" Virgil's statement ended in a sort of question, as though he weren't quite sure what he was saying.

“I guess that makes sense.” Roman blinked hard. His forehead started bleeding again, and the blood started to hurt his eye. He grabbed some of his sleeve and blotted the cut. “Well, thanks anyways. It… it helps. A lot. To have someone here.”

“Hey, I know you’d do it for me. Don’t mention it, Princey.”

Roman scoffed.

“What?”

“Why did you guys start calling me Princey? I mean, sure I dress like one but… I’m not a real prince. It’s like calling Patton a cat when he wears his cat onesie. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Do you not like being called Princey? I can stop if you want.”

“No, it’s just…” “You don’t think you deserve it.”

“Whaaaat? No!” His voice peaked, not fooling Virgil at all.

“What is with you and not deserving things?”

“Nothing! There is nothing with me and not deserving things. I don’t even know what you mean.” Virgil noticed he was starting to sound like normal Roman again.

“You deserve good things, you know. Everyone does. And to answer your question, you’re brave, you’re loyal, you’re incredibly prideful. You're flamboyant and larger-than-life and you sing literally all the time-”

“Your point is…”

“You have all the traits of a prince, Roman, so I guess that’s why we call you Princey. Not because you dress like one.”

“Hm.”

They lapsed into silence again. This silence lasted for a long time. Roman could hear Virgil’s soft breathing. He didn’t sound like he was asleep; Roman could only assume he was looking through his phone or reading a book or something. Every now and then Roman started to doze off, but jerked awake before he could sleep.

He pondered what Virgil said. Why didn’t he feel deserving of anything? He supposed it was just the truth; he really didn’t deserve to be treated any way but how he treated others. He was full of himself and rude and never really gave thought to what others felt. He was selfish.

But Virgil said he was a prince. Or like one anyways. And princes were kind and selfless; Roman was nothing like that. Was Virgil lying to him? No, he wouldn’t do that. That was the snake’s job. As Roman adjusted himself, he closed his eyes. If he was really a prince, he would fight villains and save people and marry the man of his dreams. But he wasn’t a prince. He was just Roman.

And maybe… maybe that was enough. Maybe he didn’t have to be a perfect prince. Everyone had flaws, even royalty. Sure, his flaws were bigger than most, but he could work on them. He could try to be better. It would surely take a while, but hopefully…

Hopefully it would make him a prince.

Prince Roman was sitting on his bed, looking up at the origami dragons. He pulled one down, and suddenly he was riding on it. The dragon’s paper wings carried its rider through the sky, through the clouds. The dragon landed and, with Roman still seated on it, turned into a horse. Roman rode the great mare through a large meadow. He was struck with the realization that he, Prince Roman, ruled the nearby kingdom with humility and grace, and the kingdom prospered. His closest friends had invited him to the beach, so he was taking his dragon-turned-horse to meet them. Like one entity, the rider and steed zipped through grass and flowers, and eventually came upon a small beach. Roman urged the horse to go faster; they soared across the sand. Roman felt like he was floating.

The horse stopped next to a checkered pink picnic blanket. Patton, wearing a tiara and cat-eye glasses, waved to Roman, who dismounted the horse. It vanished and left Roman to join Patton on the picnic blanket. Logan arrived shortly after on a chimera, and Virgil, whose eye shadow was bright blue, emerged from the nearby woods. Patton opened a small picnic basket and handed out small, pink cupcakes to everyone. They ate their treats in silence and stared at the view. Virgil started to drift off, and Roman let him lay on his lap as he slept. It was a good dream.

Wait. It was a dream.

Roman opened his eyes. He felt terribly groggy, and even though he had been able to sleep, a few hours could not make up for several days of missed rest. His eyes took a moment to adjust to his surroundings. His butterfly-shaped night-light glowed in the darkness, and Roman breathed a sigh of relief. He could see his bed, his dresser, the paper dragons. The darkness of the creative block was gone. It was over. He was free.

He was laying on his side, curled up in the fetal position. In front of him was Virgil, who had his legs pulled up to his chest and his head tucked down. The anxious side still had his back to Roman. He probably fell asleep with his back against the block. His slow and steady breaths led Roman to believe he was sleeping. He tried to stretch out as quietly as possible, but his body ached all over with a fury he hadn’t realized was possible. He winced and groaned, certain that if he moved any more he would snap in two.

Virgil’s head rose at the noise. He rubbed his eyes and looked over his shoulder, locking eyes with Roman. “Hey Hot Topic,” Roman said, his voice close to a whisper. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Wow. Uh. Okay.” Virgil scrambled to the prince’s side, suddenly very awake. Roman looked awful. He looked so small all curled in on himself; his cuts were open and raw, and his bruises looked irritated. There was a cut on his forehead that dripped into Roman’s eye and left stains down his cheek as though he had been crying blood. Virgil pressed the sleeve of his hoodie to the cut, ignoring Roman’s wince. It was, however, somewhat of a relief to hear Roman use nicknames again. “It worked.”

“Huzzah,” Roman cheered halfheartedly.

Virgil blew out his breath through his mouth as he deciphered what to do next. “Okay, so you’re out of there. Now… now what. Um, let’s… can you sit?”

“Dunno.”

“Okay, here.” Virgil wrapped an arm around Roman’s waist and dragged him into a sitting position.

“Ow!” Roman gasped as he straightened his back for the first time in three days. His joints popped and burned horribly. “Ow, ow, ow,”

“Sorry.”

“‘S fine.” Roman grimaced again as Virgil laid the prince’s back against the wall. He could feel his limbs lose some of their numbness and wiggled his toes slightly.

Virgil took Roman’s bloody face in his hands and gave it a once-over. The only injury there was the cut on his forehead. Otherwise, his face wasn’t hurt too bad. It was just pale and covered in sweat, which stuck his normally suave hair to his head in sticky patches.

Roman tapped his face into Virgil’s hands, already feeling a little better. Virgil started to laugh. “Dude, you smell like shit.”

“Shut up,” Roman rolled his eyes and glared playfully at Virgil. “You try being locked in a three foot box for three days and we’ll see if you smell any better.” He straightened up against the wall and grimaced again as his muscles started to loosen up with great difficulty.

“Okay, I’m gonna go grab the others. Just-- don’t move, okay?”

“Trust me, that won’t be a problem.”

After a thorough checkup from Doctor Logan and a sandwich or two from Patton, Roman was looking much better. His cheeks had gained some color, and he resumed his flamboyant attitude as soon as he had eaten. Roman had changed into his pajamas and was looking rather comfortable in his bed; his head was propped up with pillows, and piles of blankets covered his duvet.

Patton finished smoothing out the last of the blankets and stood back. “Okay, there you go. All warm and snuggly.”

“Patton, I have to say, you’ve outdone yourself on this one.” Roman patted the mountain of blankets.

Patton grinned. “Anything else you need, kiddo?”

“Sleep, that’s all.” Roman said as Logan handed him a fresh glass of water, which he drained in seconds.

“We’ll leave you alone, then. Call for us if you need anything, okay?”

“And if your joints hurt again, put more of this on them.” Logan placed a small jar of some minty-smelling cream on Roman’s nightstand. Roman nodded and yawned loudly.

“Sweet dreams, Ro,” Patton ruffled the prince’s hair as he left, followed closely by Logan.

Virgil, who had been lurking near the door, didn’t leave right away, and instead approached Roman’s bed and sat on the duvet by Roman’s feet.

“What’s up, Emo?” Roman pushed himself up on his pillows.

“The others won’t say it, but I will. Roman, this can’t happen again.”

“... What do you mean?”

“This.” Virgil motioned to Roman. “The secrecy. The lies. Roman, we’re your friends. We want to help you.”

“Actually, I was going to talk to you about that.”

“Oh, uh… really?”

“Yes, really.” Roman rolled his eyes. “No need to sound so shocked. I’ve decided I’m going to try… try to be more honest. More real with everyone. I’ve put up this… this act for so long. I think it’s time for me to stop holding onto my pride so much. It’s time for me to be the Prince Roman you guys deserve.”

“Wow, Princey, that’s… that’s really brave of you. But why?”

“Because of you, Emo. You inspired me.”

Virgil blinked and felt his face flush. “Whaaaaaa-”

“Eh. Story for another time.” Roman waved Virgil's confusion away and yawned again.

“I-- um-- well, I…” Virgil cleared his throat and took one of Roman’s hands in his. “I support you no matter what.” He ran his thumb across Roman’s hand, which was lined with tiny scars. Virgil frowned at them, as though directing some of his anger at them would make them go away.

“They’ll fade,” Roman said with a comforting smile. “They always do.”

“I believe you. But no more secrets, okay?”

“Roger that, Gerard Gay.”

Virgil pressed a kiss to Roman’s fist. “Goodnight, sweet prince.”

“Using the words of the Bard against me? You really know the way to a side’s heart.”

Virgil hoped Roman couldn’t see how he smiled as he turned off the lights and closed the door softly behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This was my first fic ever so i'm very nervous posting it. Let me know what I can do to make my formatting better in the future! And grill me on typos/grammar as much as you please. Hope you enjoyed!


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